Intended
by unc-annie
Summary: I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be."
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** Intended  
**Author:** UNCAnnie  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** "I may not have gone where I intended to go,  
but I think I have ended up where I intended to be."   
**GSR  
Disclaimer:** I don't own them. I'm just having a little  
fun.  
**A/N:** Part one of five. The story is finished, I'm  
just working on tweaking the ending, so updates should  
come quickly. Innumerable thanks to my BRs,  
Sidlesmile and Mystery, for all their help and  
encouragement. And thanks to Kathy who entered the  
world of CSI fan fiction just to help me out - you'll  
never know how glad I am that it resulted in your  
development a mini-obsession. The summary quote is  
from Douglas Adams. Thanks to Mystery for that also.   
  
.  
.  
  
**-------------------MARCH --------------------**  
.  
.  
  
The steady sound of her tennis shoes hitting the  
pavement filled her ears, and she focused on the  
rhythm, blocking out the stream of panicked thought.   
Her mind filled with the staccato of her footsteps and  
the screaming of her muscles as she pushed herself  
harder and faster.   
  
Running had become her solace. She had started doing  
it grudgingly when the team had begun training for the  
annual law enforcement marathon, but it had quickly  
become her escape. On the open road of the desert,  
where she came to escape the city congestion, she  
could be alone.   
  
Back then, it had allowed her for just a few minutes  
every day to forget the pain that had settled in her  
chest, squeezing her heart. She had been able to  
forget she loved him more than she ever had, more than  
she'd ever imagined possible. And she had been able  
to forget that he loved her too but was too scared to  
let himself trust her. She had been able to forget  
that for too short a time she had experienced heaven,  
only to have it taken away. And she had been able to  
forget that after having experienced a dream come  
true, reality seemed like a nightmare.  
  
For a few brief moments everyday, she had been  
guaranteed a reprieve from the panic that crept up on  
her at the most inopportune times, filling her with  
dread whenever she thought of spending the rest of her  
life without him. She wasn't sure which was worse:  
imagining him old and dying alone, refusing to let  
anyone comfort him or imagining him letting someone  
in, someone who wasn't her. In any case, she had  
imagined both situations and a million others besides.  
A filmstrip of possible futures ran through the back  
of her mind almost incessantly, broken only by  
flashbacks and memories: his soft touch, his sweet  
words, the look in his eyes when he cried out her name  
and released into her.  
  
Now things were different, with new possibilities  
added to the filmstrip of their lives, but the solace  
of the empty road remained the same. Now she had what  
she wanted within her grasp, and for long stretches of  
time she was genuinely happy. But beneath the surface  
lurked a problem that could unravel the happy life she  
had spent years creating. As much as she tried to  
deny the evidence, there was little doubt in her mind.  
There were choices to be made; there were options to  
consider. In a situation where no decision seemed  
right, she would be forced to take action.  
  
But she wasn't ready to take action yet, she wasn't  
even ready to think about the situation. So instead,  
she returned to her desert road, feet pounding the  
pavement in time to her hammering heart.  
  
On the road, with nothing but desert on each side of  
her, she could run, and by running escape for just a  
little while.  
  
.  
.  
  
**------------------- JANUARY --------------------**  
.  
.  
  
She stood, unmoving, her gaze riveted on the glass,  
or, rather, riveted on what lie on the other side of  
the glass: a broken man, exhausted, his eyes haunted.   
Time ceased to exist as she watched, transfixed. The  
desolation in his gaze, the tired, defeated slump of  
his shoulders cried out to her, and she ached for him,  
desperately wishing she could ease his suffering. Yet  
she wondered if she had any comfort to offer, since  
her own heart had shattered with his.  
  
Her ears still rung with his words, her mind grappling  
with their meaning.   
  
"Someone young and beautiful." It was the first time  
she'd heard him say she was beautiful, though to be  
fair, he'd alluded to the fact before, once with such  
poetic elegance she'd been rendered speechless. She'd  
spent countless hours, both sleeping and awake, since  
that day dreaming of the ways he'd tell her she was  
beautiful. Somehow this scenario had never crossed  
her mind.   
  
"I couldn't do it." Her eyes closed involuntarily and  
she choked back a sob. He couldn't do it. Did he  
regret his fear and timidity as much as she did?   
Somehow she thought it hurt more to think that he  
probably did, but he was unable to do anything to  
rectify the situation. Unable, not unwilling, because  
if she'd learned anything over the past 36 hours, it  
was that he was not simply playing a game with her  
emotions, he was as deeply wounded by this as she was,  
possibly more.  
  
A slight movement on the other side of the glass  
caught her attention, and slowly the room came back  
into view, her own private world of pain slowly fading  
out of focus. His body shuddered as he heaved a  
ragged sigh and laid his head on his arms, resting on  
the table. Her heart lurched, her jaw clenched, and  
at that moment she'd have sacrificed anything - her  
job, her career, her pride - to comfort him.  
  
Before she could think about what she was doing long  
enough to talk herself out of it, she slipped from the  
observation room, took a few deliberate steps down the  
hallway and opened the door to the interrogation room.  
She stood in the doorway and inhaled slowly and  
deeply, willing back her tears as her emotions  
threatened to overflow. He didn't move, didn't seem  
to notice that someone had entered the room.  
  
With a few timid steps, she was behind him, only  
inches away. She hesitated only a second before  
placing a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. He  
flinched and turned his head to look at her over his  
shoulder. His look of utter bewilderment slowly  
morphed into one of tender confusion.  
  
"Sara?" His hopeful disbelief tugged at her heart, and  
she acted instinctively, reaching up and cupping his  
cheek, her thumb gently stroking the soft hair that  
grew there now. This time she offered no excuse or  
explanation. His eyes fluttered shut briefly, then  
opened again and held her gaze. They sharpened and  
she feared that any second he would realize where they  
were and what was happening, and he would push her  
away. Any other day, she would have retreated then  
and there, but today she knew how much he needed her  
comfort, and she refused to withdraw until he forced  
her to do so.   
  
He lifted his arm and she braced herself for the  
inevitable distancing that would come when he held her  
back, pushing away. But instead she found herself  
being grasped and drawn into his embrace. She was in  
his lap, she realized belatedly, his arms encircling  
her waist, clinging to her as if she were the only  
thing that could keep him afloat as he struggled in a  
sea of confusion and pain. He buried his face in the  
crook of her neck and her heart twisted as she heard  
him whisper her name again and again.  
  
"Shh. It's okay. I'm okay. I'm right here," she  
whispered, forcing the words through the growing lump  
in her throat. Her hands roamed through his hair and  
stroked his neck, trying to offer what little comfort  
she could.   
  
His soft pleas tapered out, but he made no move away  
from her, his arms locked in place, ensuring that she  
could not escape.   
  
"I'm just so tired," he whispered finally.  
  
"I know," she said, stroking his hair again. "You  
haven't slept in two days. You need to go home."  
  
"No. It's not.... It's not just.... I'm tired,  
Sara. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of being so  
confused. I'm tired of always doing the right thing.   
I'm so confused. I don't even know what the right  
thing is anymore. I just want to hold you."  
  
Her eyes filled with tears and she hugged him tightly,  
resting her head against his shoulder. "Then just  
hold me."  
  
He was quiet for another minute, his breathing  
becoming less erratic, and she wondered if he had  
fallen asleep. Then he lifted his head and sat back,  
his eyes searching her face. She started to pull  
back, thinking he was ready to let go, but his arms  
tightened instinctively. "No. Don't leave me."  
  
She slipped her arms back around his neck, and closed  
her eyes for a moment, struggling to maintain her  
composure. "I'm not going anywhere," she said softly.  
  
"I just want to look at you. To...to know you're  
okay." His explanation was so soft, his voice tinged  
with embarrassment, she barely could make out his  
mutterings. His eyes left hers, unable to maintain  
the contact, and his gaze fell to her lap.   
  
"Sometimes," he continued, "sometimes I'd look at her,  
and I'd see you. She looked so much like you. I was  
so scared."  
  
His agonized confession shot through her, sending  
chills down her spine. Had the roles been reversed,  
had she been forced to work the murder of someone who  
looked just like him.... She didn't know if she could  
have done it.  
  
"Oh, god, Grissom."  
  
She watched as he lifted his head slowly, expecting  
him to meet her gaze again. But they stopped short,  
and she realized suddenly that he wasn't merely  
avoiding her eyes, he was staring at her neck.   
Unbidden, images of the body she'd viewed in the  
morgue earlier rushed at her, colliding in her mind  
with photos from the crime scene. The woman, her face  
so familiar, her neck slit straight across, blood  
pooling beneath her. So much blood. He shuddered,  
and she knew he was visualizing the same thing.   
Silently she grasped his wrist in her hand and guided  
him to her neck. His eyes fluttered to hers for a  
second, questioning then grateful, before falling back  
to her neck. He watched, focused single-mindedly on  
the pale skin beneath his fingers, as they traced the  
delicate muscles, reassuring him that everything was  
intact.  
  
She trembled, his gentle strokes robbing her of her  
ability to speak, nearly stealing her breath  
altogether. When his gaze finally met hers again and  
she saw past the torture to the longing and need, she  
gasped softly. He locked eyes with her for only a  
second before refocusing on her neck yet again. But  
this time he removed his fingers and replaced them  
with his lips. The breath she'd been holding whooshed  
out of her body with a strangled sound that was  
somewhere between a moan and a cry.   
  
His lips burned a hot, wet trail of open-mouthed  
kisses across her neck. Her head fell back, granting  
him unrestrained access, and his tongue darted out,  
tasting her tentatively. She whimpered, her hands  
winding their way into his hair, silently encouraging  
him. He responded enthusiastically, continuing his  
ministrations to her neck while unlocking his hands  
from around her waist in order to explore her body and  
stroke her hair. Somewhere in the depths of her mind,  
a rational voice was screaming at her that this was  
wrong. Besides the fact that they were at work, in a  
room with a two-way mirror where any manner of people  
might be watching them without their knowledge, she  
also knew this was all going to come to an end soon  
and there was no way to know how he would react. In  
the past, every step forward in their relationship had  
been met with the proverbial two steps back. If a  
dinner invitation could cause him to avoid her for  
months at a time, what would this lead to? Would he  
push her so far away she'd have no choice but to let  
him go? The thought sent an ache to her chest and her  
sobs of pleasure were tinged with sadness.  
  
"Sara. Oh, Sara. God, Sara. Sara. Sara. Sara." Her  
name, whispered so desperately against the sensitive  
skin of her neck, sent mingled waves of tenderness and  
desire rolling over her body. Any thought of pushing  
him away before he could hurt her any more than he had  
in the past year dissolved as he continued his soft  
litany, his pleading voice and the sound of his mouth  
on her skin filling the otherwise silent room.  
  
His kisses slowed and his repetition of her name  
became less frantic, allowing her to slide slowly back  
into consciousness. As much as she hated the idea of  
breaking the moment and pulling away, she knew they  
had to. Anyone could happen upon them. They were in  
a well-used area of the police station. If they were  
found by any number of people it could spell serious  
trouble for them professionally, not to mention the  
havoc it would wreak on their already-tenuous personal  
relationship.  
  
"Grissom," she managed to whisper finally. "Griss,  
stop."  
  
"No," he whispered, continuing his gentle assault.  
  
She closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively, trying  
to rein in her emotions. "We have to stop. We can't  
do this here. Grissom, we're at work."  
  
His hands stopped their erotic travelings and  
tightened around her waist. "Please."  
  
Her tears were back, sparked by his desperate  
entreaty. But she forced herself to guide his head  
away from her before pulling him close and hugging him  
tightly. "I don't want to stop either, but we have  
to, Griss. We have to. We need to leave. We can't  
stay here like this."  
  
He said nothing, just continued clinging to her. She  
inhaled deeply, aware that her next words could change  
everything and even if things went as best as she  
imagined they possibly could, she was still going to  
wind up with a broken heart. "Come home with me."  
  
When he didn't respond she worried first that he had  
come back to his senses and was trying to think of a  
way to extricate himself from the situation he had  
accidentally created, then that he had fallen asleep  
in her arms. "Griss?"  
  
"I don't know what to do," he said softly. Her heart  
twisted at the weariness and confusion in his voice.   
In all the years she had known him, he'd always seemed  
so strong. In the past she'd accused him of being  
uncaring, but she'd known even as she said the words,  
that they were untrue. He felt things, he felt them  
deeply, but he was strong, stronger than she. He knew  
how to turn off the emotions when they were  
inappropriate, how to remain stoic when he need be.   
His weakness now scared her more than she wanted to  
admit.   
  
"What do you want, Grissom. Just tell me what you  
want me to do and I'll do it." She hated herself for  
saying it. Hated herself for being so overwhelmed  
with her love for a person that she allowed him to  
choose her destiny for her. But she knew it was  
true; whatever he needed, whatever he wanted, she  
would give it to him.   
  
"I want you."   
  
She couldn't stifle the gasp. They were the words  
she'd dreamed of hearing from him for so long she  
could no longer remember when she'd first imagined him  
saying them. She'd long ago convinced her rational  
self she would never hear them from his lips anywhere  
but in her dreams, though to be honest she had never  
been able to persuade her heart. And yet she was  
hearing them now, as she sat cradled in his arms, her  
neck still wet from his kisses. "You have me," she  
whispered hoarsely. Her fingers threaded through his  
hair, stroking his curls gently. "You've always had  
me."  
  
"No, Sara." His voice was miserable and she could  
feel him shaking his head slightly. "I don't have  
you. I can't have you. I can't."  
  
"You can, Grissom. You do. Don't you know? You have  
me. Whether you want me or not, you have me. I gave  
myself to you a long time ago. All you have to do is  
accept it."  
  
"God, Sara. I wish it was that easy."  
  
"It is easy. You're making this more complicated than  
it has to be."  
  
"No, I'm trying to make you see how complicated this  
is. There are far too many obstacles, far too many  
reasons this would never work. And then we'll both be  
more miserable than ever. The thought of losing you  
now - when I've never really had you - is nearly  
killing me. The thought of losing you later.... I  
can't, Sara. It's not that I don't want to. I  
can't."  
  
He had pulled back during his monologue, meeting her  
eyes for the first time since he'd kissed her neck.   
The memory of his kisses hit her suddenly and her  
tongue darted between her lips, wetting them. His  
kisses had been so erotic, so enticing. She needed to  
feel his lips on hers, desperately wanted to touch his  
hot tongue with her own.  
  
She shook herself from her brief reverie and focused  
on the topic of hand once again. "Why?" she asked.   
"Why not?"  
  
He had reduced her to begging once again, she  
realized. After the first time -- when she'd returned  
his unequivocal "no" with "Why not? Let's go out to  
dinner. Let's see what happens." -- she'd sworn that  
she'd never beg again. But even her stubborn pride  
was no match for her need for him today. If begging  
would work, she would resort to it, and she refused to  
feel guilty for doing so.  
  
"I don't even know right now, Sara. I can't think.   
But I know there are reasons. Do you think I would  
make us both this miserable if I thought there was a  
way? There's not. It can't work. And once I've had  
some sleep, I'm sure I'll remember those reasons all  
too vividly."  
  
"But you can't remember them now, can you?" she asked,  
somewhat stunned by what she was considering. Her  
attraction to him had never been the type that would  
be satisfied by a fling. One night had never been her  
goal. But the thought of leaving him tonight was  
unbearable. Her desperation making her brave, she  
slid one hand up to cup his cheek. Her voice was low  
and seductive as she continued. "You can forget all  
the reasons tonight, can't you? Just tonight."  
  
"Sara...." His breath was labored suddenly, his eyes  
boring into hers. "You don't mean that. We  
can't...."  
  
"You need me, and I need you. For one night, can't we  
just forget why it's wrong and lose ourselves in how  
right it is?"   
  
His body stiffened beneath her and she wasn't sure if  
it was because he was upset or because he was  
contemplating her offer. "This doesn't change  
anything, Sara. In the morning, we'll still be who we  
are, and we'll still be unable to do anything about  
this. Tonight...would just make tomorrow morning that  
much harder."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Do you really?" He didn't believe her, but he was  
wavering nonetheless. She could see it in his eyes.   
The thought of being separated from her tonight was no  
more bearable for him as it was for her.  
  
"I do," she breathed, taking one final chance and  
leaning forward. Before he could stop her, she  
pressed her lips to his.   
  
The spark was immediate. His lips were firm on hers,  
tugging and teasing. His tongue pressed forward  
boldly, demanding access, which she granted eagerly.   
His hands roamed her back frantically before one crept  
up, tangling in her hair and holding her to him as he  
continued his battery of her senses. Her mind whirled  
as she tried to comprehend what was happening. All  
logical thought had vanished though, and all she could  
think about were the sensations he was creating.   
Finally, she jerked away, her eyes flashing as she  
held his gaze.   
  
When she spoke, her voice was husky with  
long-restrained desire. All vestiges of begging were  
gone, replaced by a quiet demand. "Come home with  
me."  
  
Twenty minutes later, they stood in front of her door.  
Her hand trembled as she inserted her key into the  
lock. Grissom stood behind her silently. He had  
responded to her demand in the interrogation room with  
a heated look and a slow nod, and they hadn't spoken  
since. They had made their way quickly out of the  
station and into her Denali where the air between them  
had crackled with electricity as they refrained from  
touching each other during the fifteen minute drive.   
It was almost as if they knew once they started again,  
there could be no stopping, regardless of where they  
were.  
  
After only minimal fumbling, she managed to disengage  
the lock and open the door to her apartment. She  
stepped inside and held the door open for him. He  
followed her and moved aside to allow her to close the  
door behind him. She turned to face him and opened  
her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She licked  
her lips slowly, then tried again, gesturing toward  
the kitchen. "Do you want-"  
  
The words never left her mouth because suddenly his  
lips were covering hers swallowing any offer of  
refreshments before she could utter it. She was  
pinned to the door, his solid body pressed firmly  
against hers. His hands held her face tenderly while  
his tongue swept through her mouth frantically as if  
trying to learn and memorize every taste and texture  
as quickly as he could.  
  
She gasped, but responded as fervently as possible  
once she had recovered from the shock. Her tongue  
tangled with his and she smiled against his lips. One  
of his hands left her face, traveling down her body,  
tracing her arm, her waist, her hip. He rocked  
against her and she felt a stab of almost painful  
arousal twisting in her gut as the growing evidence of  
his desire pressed into her hip. Her arousal was only  
intensified when she heard him moan her name against  
her lips.  
  
She whimpered in protest when he ripped his lips from  
hers, but the frustrated noise slowly morphed into one  
of pleasure as his lips found her neck. Her head fell  
to the side automatically granting him freer access,  
and he took advantage of her offer, his lips  
frantically roaming the exposed skin of her neck and  
upper chest. His hand slid down her body, caressing  
her curves and sliding between her hot body and the  
cool wood of the door to cup her bottom before  
slipping down further, urging her silently to lift her  
leg. She responded immediately, wrapping her leg  
around his tightly, seemingly trying to merge their  
two bodies into one. Her hands slid down his back,  
yanking his dress shirt from his pants and winding  
their way under his clothes to stroke his bare skin.  
  
His arousal was unmistakable now, straining the bounds  
of his loose dress pants. His hand left her leg and  
found her breast, kneading it gently through the soft  
material of her T-shirt. He found the pebbled nipple,  
rolled it between his thumb and finger and she inhaled  
sharply and arched against him, her hands immediately  
finding his face and lifting it to hers. Her lips  
sought his, her eager tongue plundering his mouth as  
she tried to tell him without words exactly how she  
was feeling. He groaned and thrust against her, and  
even through the layers of clothing that separated  
them, Sara could feel the jolt of pleasure shoot  
through her.  
  
Unable to wait any longer, she pushed herself away  
from the door and began half leading, half dragging  
him toward her bedroom. They crashed into the wall,  
then the doorframe as they stumbled down the short  
hallway, unwilling to separate long enough to make the  
short trek. Once inside her bedroom, he immediately  
slid her jacket from her shoulders, letting it pool on  
the floor at her feet. Suddenly their hands were  
everywhere, unfastening buttons, sliding zippers.   
Shoes and socks were removed awkwardly as they tried  
to shed their clothing without stepping out of their  
embrace. When their outer layers of clothing had all  
been disposed of and they were finally clad only in  
their underclothes - Grissom in his boxers, Sara in  
her bra and panties - they fell on the bed, making no  
effort to draw back the covers or do things  
gracefully.  
  
His hands roamed her body, massaging and caressing.   
"God, Sara. You're so incredibly beautiful. You have  
no idea," he mumbled, his lips leaving hers to begin  
an exploration of her body. "I've wanted to do this  
since the first time I laid eyes on you. Sometimes  
just being in the same room with you makes me  
incapable of coherent thought."  
  
Sara smiled brightly, her eyes glazed with passion as  
his lips trailed over her ribcage and across her flat  
stomach. Her hands stroked his hair as she sighed  
happily. His kisses stopped suddenly, and she looked  
up confused. Once things came into focus, she  
realized he had moved to the foot of the bed and was  
looking up along the length of her body as she lay  
sprawled across the bed. He placed a kiss at her  
ankle, then began moving up her leg, lingering once he  
reached the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee.  
  
"Griss." Even she was uncertain whether her  
breathless plea was an entreaty for him to continue  
what he was doing or to hurry along.  
  
"If you're trying to rush me, don't bother," he  
replied, his voice thick with desire, but tinged with  
humor. He continued his ascent for awhile longer  
before speaking again. "Do you have any idea how much  
time I've spent fantasizing about these legs over the  
last ten years? God, Sara. They go on forever and  
ever."  
  
"Trust me, they end eventually," she said, her voice  
strangled, as his lips grazed the edge of her black  
cotton panties.  
  
"Yes, yes they do." His mouth hovered for a minute,  
and she could feel his hot breath as it came in puffs  
against the damp garment. He glanced up momentarily,  
his gaze burning her, before focusing on the task at  
hand. He hooked his fingers on the sides of the tiny  
scrap of cloth that separated him from her. She  
lifted her hips obligingly, and her breathing was  
labored as he began sliding them down her legs in an  
agonizingly slow path. Finally he tossed it aside and  
returned to his previous position, his mouth hovering  
above her incredibly sensitive skin.  
  
When his lips finally found her in his most intimate  
kiss yet, she reacted automatically, lifting her hips  
and gasping. "Oh my god. Grissom."  
  
"Say my name, Sara," he demanded, his kisses moving  
higher, tracing a line where her dark curls met the  
pale skin of her stomach.  
  
She didn't respond immediately, his words drowned out  
in her mind by the incredible pleasure he was  
sparking. His kisses continued as he worked his way  
higher. He reached the bra finally, the only item of  
clothing she continued to wear, and slid his hands  
under her, deftly undoing the clasp. She shrugged out  
of it eagerly, tossing it over the side of her bed and  
heaving a ragged sigh as he sucked and licked along  
the undersides of her sensitive breasts. She  
whimpered, her chest tight with longing and need,  
arching towards him in a silent plea. He complied,  
but slowly, his mouth tracing the swells with infinite  
care and attention to detail. As he neared the tight  
peak of one breast, a strangled sound of pleasure  
escaped her lips as she writhed beneath him. He  
placed three final kisses around the hard nub,  
punctuating each with a single word, "Say. My. Name."   
Then his mouth engulfed the bud, sucking fervently and  
swirling his tongue over her sensitive skin.  
  
"Gil!" Her back arched off the bed, her head pressing  
into the pillow, eyes shut tightly. "Oh god, Gil.   
Yes.'  
  
He rewarded her by moving eagerly to the other nipple,  
giving it the same erotic attention. She lay beneath  
him, reveling in his kisses for another moment, before  
grasping his face firmly with her hands and bringing  
him up to her lips. Her mouth covered his, her tongue  
thrusting into his mouth repeatedly in a sensual  
preview of what she wanted him to do.   
  
Her patience was beginning to wear thin, but she would  
force herself to delay the ultimate pleasure, first  
giving him the same sweet attention he'd lavished upon  
her. Sliding her feet along the mattress, she raised  
her knees, capturing him between them and cradling him  
in the valley of her hips. She reveled in his solid  
weight for a minute, then rolled forcefully, deftly  
changing their positions.  
  
tbc


	2. 2

**A/N:** Sorry for the longer than expected delay in updating. I wound up being without internet access while on vacation. Updates should come more regularly now that I'm at home again. Thanks so much to everyone who left feedback or emailed me privately. I really appreciate it.

------------------------------------- **MARCH** --------------------------------------------  
  
"Sara, it's two o'clock in the morning. Forensic Files is not on."  
  
"Tivo," she said simply, rolling her eyes as if it should have been self- explanatory.  
  
They were in her apartment, lounging around, having just finished dinner. They'd managed an evening off together because Catherine had needed to switch shifts at the last minute. In the two weeks since he'd found himself standing on Sara's doorstep praying she still wanted him, they'd managed to nurture their new relationship with breakfasts and the occasional night together, but until tonight they'd yet to have a whole day together. They had gone to a movie together, then come back to her house for dinner. He was amazed at how natural it felt.  
  
They settled onto the couch, and she leaned against the arm, casually laying her legs across his lap. He smiled and took the subtle hint, rubbing them lazily through the soft cotton of the lounging pants she'd changed into after dinner. With a couple of quick clicks of the remote, Sara had the program called up and they both focused on the television, watching as the case unfolded.  
  
His mind would not focus on the case, though the story of the young mother's murder was compelling and the absence of evidence made the case interesting. Instead, he was riveted on the woman beside him. With every passing day he felt his love for her grow and he knew that his happiness was becoming more and more dependent on her presence in his life. The thought that she might someday realize that she could have any man she wanted terrified him. Though he didn't for a second regret the decision he'd made, it was impossible to turn of decades of insecurities with the flip of a switch.  
  
He slipped his hand through the wide leg hole of the pants, caressing the soft skin of her calf. She hummed contentedly and snuggled against him, her eyes never leaving the screen.  
  
He knew that she loved him. Not only did he believe her when she told him that, he could see it in her eyes. And he knew the misery he'd felt in the weeks between the first time they'd made love and the night he finally broke down and decided their relationship was worth the risk had not been one-sided. His fear was not that she was not really in love with him. His fear was that love was fickle. And eventually, probably sooner rather than later given his track record, she was going to realize that a relationship with him was more trouble than it was worth.  
  
For once he did not have to worry that it was his job that would interfere with his personal life. If anyone understood the demands of his job, it was Sara. In fact, rather than being upset when he was inevitably called away from a date, she would probably be excited and ask to come along. Her workaholic tendencies definitely rivaled his own. And though their relationship was not totally wrapped up in their work, it was shared a passion important in both of their lives, and it was a big part of their relationship. No, work would not be a problem for the most part.  
  
He was the problem. His inability to open up, his intense need for privacy, and his distrust of other people. Though Sara was a private person too, she was not nearly as jaded as he was. He was thankful for that, but also worried that she would eventually grow sick of his insecurities.  
  
Distrust was second nature to him. From the time he was a young child, he had learned that it was important to be self-reliant. Abandoned by his father before he even started kindergarten, his earliest memories were of his mother struggling to create a happy home for the two of them. Though she had done her best, it had been painfully clear to him that their family was different than the other families he knew. His mother worked during the day, struggling to make ends meet. At night she was exhausted and spent most of her time studying sign language, which would quickly become the primary language of their household, effectively distancing them even farther from the outside world.  
  
Once he started school, he became subject to the taunts of the other children who teased him about his hand-me-down clothes and his absentee father. School yard rumors about why his father left reflected the community gossip, and for the first time in his young life, he encountered words like, "criminal" and "jail". As his mother's hearing deteriorated, the cruelty of his classmates only increased. They laughed at the funny way he used his hands to speak and made rude comments when his mother's back was turned.  
  
His first reaction had been to fight, to defend his mother. But when he'd come home with a black eye and a bloody lip, the tears in his mother's eyes had dissuaded him from that course. Instead he learned to tune them out. He turned to books, immersing himself in the stories that took him far from the miserable playground. His thirst for knowledge led him on adventures of his own making, exploring history, literature and science. Quickly his passion for science had led to his examination of the dead animals whose bodies he found on the beaches near his home. He was fascinated by what he learned with every amateur autopsy. But this passion was something else that would set him apart from his peers, and so in order to avoid their ridicule, he kept his beloved experiments a secret.  
  
Not long ago, while his team had been investigating the death of a high school bully, the conversation had turned to their high school personas. When he'd answered that he'd been a ghost, they had been perplexed, moving on quickly to the next person. But it was really the only way to describe his presence during that time. He'd been a conscientious student doing well enough to avoid discipline, but not so well that he would draw accolades. His real learning had not happened in school, but in his home and in the labs of the local police station where he studied the bodies of animals that had died recently. He avoided social situations, but he was not awkward enough to draw the taunts that had plagued him as a small child.  
  
He was happy with the private world he'd created, and as an adult, he enjoyed his private life, resisting any attempts to break through his exterior. At forty-seven, he'd yet to have a serious romantic relationship. He'd had a number of casual relationship with the understanding that nothing more than companionship and physical intimacy were required. He'd gone on dates with any number of women, but there had never been a threat to his private world.  
  
Only Sara. He'd known from the moment he met her that she was different. He'd been enchanted with her. He'd chalked it up to a silly crush at first. As such, he had allowed himself the luxury of flirting with her, though he'd known it was unprofessional given that she was a student in the seminar he was teaching. But as he got to know her, the crush had deepened and he'd grown to respect her and care about her. Even when they'd been separated by hundreds of miles, he'd thought about her far more often then he cared to admit, and he sought her company in a way that was totally new for him.  
  
Bringing her to Las Vegas had been risky. She'd been a natural choice for the investigation, but he'd be lying if he denied the fact that he'd planned from the beginning to ask her to stay on permanently. What he hadn't counted on, though, was her acceptance of his offer. And her flirting and teasing continuously threw him off guard. She'd sneaked into his heart, slowly creating a home where no one else ever had. It terrified him as much as it thrilled him.  
  
As much as he loved Sara and wanted to trust her, nothing in his life had ever been that easy. He had no doubt that eventually she would leave him and he would have to face the world without her. For a long time his defense to that had been to push her away. But he couldn't do that anymore. Now he was just going to enjoy this while it lasted be damned the consequences.  
  
"See, this is exactly why there should be an international database of DNA. They had the information all along, but they had to wait twenty years for him to kill again. If they could have caught him back then, they wouldn't have had to wait for him to murder another innocent woman."  
  
Sara's words jolted him from his reverie and he realized that he had missed the entire program. He hoped she wouldn't expect him to discuss it in any great detail.  
  
"Sara, they didn't have DNA twenty years ago," he said, ignoring his urge to remind her yet again about the constitutional rights that she seemed so eager to trample.  
  
"I know that, but if his first murder was now, and we had the database, we could catch him right away, rather than waiting until he murders someone else twenty years from now.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I know," she continued when he kept his silence. "Constitution. Blah blah blah."  
  
He laughed and gave her leg and affectionate squeeze. "Now what? Is there some other fascinating program you have saved for us."  
  
"Hmm, I don't think so. Actually, I was thinking about reading, if you don't mind. I mean, if you want to talk or something we can. But I'm in the middle of a book and I kinda wanted to read it for awhile. You can watch TV if you want, or I have tons of things to read. I might even have one or two things you've never read," she teased.  
  
He rolled his eyes at her and gently shoved her legs off of his, freeing himself to stand. He wandered over to her bookshelves and began examining the contents.  
  
"I suppose I shouldn't be at all surprised that you're a huge Patricia Cornwell fan," he teased, taking in row after row of crime novels starring the fictional Medical Examiner Kay Scarpetta.  
  
"Have you ever actually read any of them?" Sara's tone was confrontational, but she was smiling, and he knew she was only pretending to be offended by his dismissal of her collection. "They're incredibly well researched. The cases she deals with might be a bit outrageous, but the methods she uses to solve them are totally legitimate."  
  
Grissom chuckled. "I'll take your word for it."  
  
His gaze drifted from her collection of crime novels to the shelf of forensic textbooks below them and suddenly he was reminded of a long-ago conversation.  
  
"What?" Sara asked suspiciously as he smiled. She stood and began to approach him, obviously curious about what he found so amusing.  
  
"I forgot about the novels," he said cryptically.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You max out on overtime every month. You go home and listen to your police scanner. You read forensic text books.... I forgot about the crime novels."  
  
Sara rolled her eyes and moved closer until she was standing directly in front of him. He slid his arms around her waist, drawing her even closer. His voice was low and intimate as he recited his admonition. "You have to have a diversion."  
  
"I found one," she whispered breathlessly.  
  
"Yeah, you did. And it's a lot better than riding roller coasters."  
  
Her face lit up in a smile that set loose a flurry of butterflies in his stomach no matter how many times he saw it. His lips sought hers, tasting her contagious smile. They traded sweet kisses for a few moments, then he held her and stroked her back as she nuzzled against his neck.  
  
She pulled away finally and retrieved the novel that was laying open on the kitchen counter. She settled into the middle of the couch as he continued to peruse her bookshelves, his gaze leaving the textbooks to survey her collection of magazines.  
  
"Applied Psychodynamics in Forensic Science?"  
  
Her eyes remained focused on her book, but the corners of her mouth quirked up. "You told me you would get me a subscription, but you never did. I had to get it on my own."  
  
He shook his head in amusement, unable to keep the smile from his face as he remembered the conversation that had led to that promise.  
  
"Funny though," she continued, her voice blasé as she kept her gaze trained on her book, "I searched all the back issues and couldn't find any article about the mile high club."  
  
"That's because I didn't read it there," he said, turning back to the bookshelf to hide his grin. "I read it in Maxim."  
  
She burst out laughing, the melodic noise soothing his soul. He turned and smiled at her over his shoulder, then chose a random magazine from the shelf and returned to the couch. They read in silence for a few minutes, her knee brushing his leg occasionally. Then she stopped reading, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she scooted down the couch and slipped into a reclining position, resting her head on his leg, her hair fanning out across his lap. She wiggled a little until she was comfortable, then raised her eyes to his. "Is this okay?" she asked softly.  
  
He smiled and stroked her hair. "Of course."  
  
Her eyes closed for a minute and a contented smile played across her lips. Then her eyes opened again and she focused on her book once more. He watched her surreptitiously, continuing to stroke her hair as he pretended to read an article about advances in fingerprint matching.  
  
Eventually his hand stilled, and he rested it on her stomach, his thumb making tiny stroking motions. She shifted, causing her shirt to rise up, exposing a narrow strip of pale skin. His fingers reached for the uncovered skin, tracing the hem of her shirt with a feather-light touch. He smiled as he felt her muscles contract automatically. He worked his fingers under her shirt, spreading his hand until it spanned her taut stomach, her heat seeping into his hand and warming his heart.  
  
He returned his attention to his magazine, moving on to a new article. He was only a few paragraphs in when he felt her hand cover his, her fingers stroking his gently. After another minute he gave up the pretense of reading and put his magazine aside. He turned to look at their hands, where they lay intertwined on her stomach, then turned his gaze to smile at her, expecting to see her still focused on her book. Instead he found her staring at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears.  
  
"Hey," he said softly. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing," she said quickly, blinking back the tears and averting her eyes.  
  
"Sara...." His heart ached as he watched her pull away.  
  
She stood and walked to the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of water from the refrigerator, her hand smoothing over her stomach. Whatever it was, she obviously didn't want to talk about it. He grudgingly gave her the space she obviously needed, pretending to focus on his magazine again. When she returned to the couch, she sat next to him, rather than returning to her original position. He snaked his arm around her shoulders, and was encouraged when she cuddled against him and rested her head on his shoulder. She seemed more relaxed, but she was still quiet, and he couldn't help wondering if he had somehow missed something important.

.

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----------------------------------------- **JANUARY **--------------------------------------

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He lay on top of her, raining kisses over her body. She grasped his face firmly with her hands and he gave into her silent demand, bringing his lips of to meet hers. Her mouth covered his, her tongue thrusting into his mouth repeatedly, and his body clenched in anticipation.  
  
He felt her raise her knees around him, trapping him in the sweet cradle of her hips. He allowed himself to give into the pleasure of the position, continuing the deep kisses and he pressed against her. Then suddenly he found himself being rolled over as she threw her weight to the side, landing him on his back.  
  
He gasped as her body landed on his, her legs straddling his waist. The wetness between her legs seeped through his cotton boxers and he thrust up instinctively. Her eyes met his, and he saw she was deeply aroused, but also slightly amused.  
  
"Oh, I don't think so. Not yet," she said breathlessly, her mouth seeking out the juncture of his throat and chest. "It's my turn now."  
  
She scooted slowly down the length of his body, layering kisses everywhere she could, taking time to linger anywhere that seemed particularly sensitive. He lay back, relaxing and giving her free reign, reveling in her touch. But as she began feathering kisses over his soft stomach, fear began to prick through his haze of arousal.  
  
"Sara," he said softly, reaching for her in an attempt to distract her from the part of his body that made him the most self-conscious. Suddenly he was reminded he was nearly fifteen years older than her, his body softened slightly with age while hers was still at the height of perfection, taut and smooth, carrying not one extra ounce of fat. Feeling inadequate and terrified she would suddenly see him as he was and regret her decision to make love to him, he tried again to distract her. "Sara, honey. Come here."  
  
She swatted the hand that tugged at her arm, and growled a deep, rumbling sound of arousal before resuming her ministration. He couldn't help but grin, confident once again in her attraction to him. He didn't understand it, but he wasn't going to try to dissuade her. His hands found his way to her hair, threading through the soft strands and stroking gently as he shuddered with the sheer bliss of her lips on his skin. He'd thought a few moments ago nothing could possibly compare to the joy of touching her, kissing her, and knowing she wanted him to continue. But he'd been wrong. Perfection was her touching him, kissing him, and knowing she wanted to continue.  
  
Mimicking his earlier action, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugged gently. He smiled and lifted his hips, gasping as she slid them down slowly and sensually, grazing his throbbing erection as she did so. Once he'd been freed, she rapidly divested him of the garment completely, throwing it in the general direction he'd thrown her underclothes only minutes earlier.  
  
He ached for her, his hips straining up toward her. She leaned forward and her cool, soft hair brushed against his burning skin. He inhaled sharply as he felt a rush of blood to his already rock-hard erection. He opened his eyes just in time to see her smile widely as she closed her hand around him, stroking gently.  
  
A strangled cry that might have been her name rushed from his lips as his fingers tightened convulsively in her hair. She continued to touch him, setting up no rhythm, simply exploring him. "Oh god, Sara. Oh god," he managed finally. "Honey...."  
  
She removed her hand and he was conflicted, torn between heart-wrenching disappointment and relief because he knew he was far too close to the edge if he wanted this to last much longer. Before he could analyze it any further, her lips were on him and he lost all ability to formulate coherent thoughts. She kissed down and then back up his solid length, her tongue darting out occasionally to taste him. He groaned and tried to control his urge to thrust, his body rigid with anticipation. Frantically he sought a distraction, any mundane list or fact he could focus on in order to keep from losing control of his body. It was a futile effort; all he could think about was her. Her body, her lips, her touch. Her heart. God she was sweet. Her touches, though obviously arousing, were also tender and loving. His love for her swelled in his heart and for one terrifying moment he thought he would cry.  
  
Then her mouth closed over his erection sucking gently. "Sara, no!"  
  
She jerked back as if she'd been slapped and he realized how harsh his tone had been. His hand cupped her cheek, stroking her soft skin. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry," he whispered, rolling onto his side and pulling her up to lay next to him. He kissed her lips tenderly, his hands cradling her face. She returned his kisses, but her body was still tense. "I just.... I'm so close," he explained. "Way too close for something that good. I want to be inside you when I come."  
  
Her smile returned once she realized he hadn't been angry with her. He stroked her cheek and kissed her again, waiting until her body was completely relaxed next to him before continuing. "I'm sorry I yelled. I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
"It's okay," she mumbled, unconcerned now, her lips seeking his neck, her hands roaming his body once again.  
  
Her hand closed around him once more, stroking slowly and he couldn't control the urge to thrust this time. He bit back a groan and captured her hand, stilling it. "Oh, honey. Sara, I can't wait anymore. I have to be inside you. I need you."  
  
Immediately, she rolled onto her back, her hands tugging him over her. His body covered hers as her legs parted, cradling his hips and opening herself in an intimate invitation. His elbows rested on either side of her shoulders, bracing himself in order to protect her from some of his weight, his hands stroking her face and hair. He trembled as he held himself in check, his erection resting at the entrance of her slick folds.  
  
"Yes," she whispered, as if sensing he was seeking her permission one final time. Her eyes were closed, head thrown back against the mattress. "Please."  
  
His chest constricted and he thought for the millionth time that evening that he just couldn't believe this was real. "Sara, honey, open your eyes. Look at me for a second."  
  
Her eyes fluttered open, and they met his. He waited until her gaze sharpened and he knew she was really seeing him, then slid slowly into her, pressing gently but firmly until he couldn't go any further.  
  
"Oh my god," she cried softly, her eyes closing and her head falling back again. "God, Gil. Oh god."  
  
A lump formed in his throat as he watched her eyes open again and lock with his. Summoning every ounce of strength and willpower within, he forced himself not to thrust, just to stay fully sheathed inside of her.  
  
"This is.... You feel...." she trailed off, obviously unable to find the words to describe it.  
  
"I know," he said simply.  
  
"God, it's even better than I imagined. How is that possible?" she asked, smiling at him.  
  
He chuckled and kissed her neck. "I don't know. But it's better than I ever imagined either. Either we both have weak imaginations or-"  
  
"This is beyond imagination?" she finished, serious once again.  
  
"Yes," he hissed, his willpower slipping as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Those legs; the star players in so many of his fantasies about her. He had been right, he thought hazily, having them wrapped around his waist was the best feeling in the world. Then she clenched her internal muscles, squeezing him, and all bets were off. He groaned loudly as he withdrew, then thrust again as deeply as he could. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard her gasp with pleasure and felt her fingernails dig into his back. Then instincts took over and he lost the ability to think as he thrust into her again and again, her silky muscles enveloping him time after time.  
  
Her breaths became shallow and her head pressed back against the blankets, eyes clenched shut. Soft, mostly unintelligible words began to pour out of her as she pled with him. His strokes became shorter as he increased his pace to an almost frantic level, pumping into her. And then she was calling out his name and writhing beneath him, her entire body tensing as her muscles contracted, milking him. It was more than he could take, hearing his name on her lips as her pleasure crested, and suddenly he was releasing into her, sobbing out her name as he did so. His arms gave way and he collapsed on top of her, their bodies tangling in a mass of sweaty limbs.  
  
Hours or possibly minutes later, he was unsure having lost all sense of time, he realized he must be crushing her and forced himself to roll off of her, flopping onto his back. He heard her whimper in protest and used what little remaining strength he had to pull her onto him. Her head rested on his shoulder, one arm and one leg flung haphazardly over his body. She sighed, and he stroked her back lazily.  
  
Finally she stretched, the length of her body rubbing gently against his, and he knew it was a feeling he'd treasure for the rest of his life. She lifted her head and looked at him, eyes twinkling. "We should have done that ages ago," she said with a smile. "Wow."  
  
He couldn't help but laugh. He pulled her down and kissed her soundly. "It was worth the wait," he said when he finally released her lips.  
  
"You don't regret it?" she asked quietly.  
  
He reached up, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "My only regret is it has to end."  
  
Her eyes clouded with tears and she started to say something, then stopped herself. She blinked back the tears and kissed him before laying her head on his shoulder again. "Let's not think about that right now."  
  
He kissed the top of her head and held her tightly. After a minute, he wiggled out of her embrace and sat up.  
  
"Where are you going," she asked, the panicked look in her eyes belying her casual tone.  
  
"Just to the bathroom," he said, bending down to kiss her before standing. "I'll be right back."  
  
He used the bathroom quickly, cleaning up and getting ready for bed. He ran his tongue over his teeth grimacing at the thought of not being able to brush them, and popped his head out of the door. Sara lay sprawled across the bed, eyes closed, a self-satisfied grin spread across her features. His words caught in his throat and he stood there frozen, watching her. Eventually her eyes opened and her grin turned into a full-fledged Sara smile when she caught him gaping at her.  
  
She quirked her eyebrows questioningly and he cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. "I, um, just wanted to know if you had an extra toothbrush."  
  
"Oh. No, but you can use mine. It's not like I'm afraid of your germs." She closed her eyes again, stretching like a cat.  
  
He tore his eyes from her and returned to the bathroom, plucking her toothbrush from the cup next to the sink and using it quickly.  
  
The intimacy of using her toothbrush seemed important in a way that was far different from the intimacy they'd just experienced. Using her toothbrush made him think of the mundane, everyday things that made love special and suddenly he longed to watch her get ready for work every evening, wash dishes after dinner, or read a book on her couch. He wanted to hear her sing in the shower, smell her on his clothes when she was away.  
  
He sat down on the side of the tub, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hand, tears threatening yet again. Suddenly his exhaustion caught up with him and it was all he could do to stand and walk back into the bedroom.  
  
When he entered the room, Sara was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing his dress shirt loose and unbuttoned. She looked up and her brow furrowed as soon as she saw him, "Are you okay?"  
  
"Just tired," he said wearily.  
  
"Oh, god. Of course you are. When was the last time you slept?"  
  
He shrugged, too tired to try to remember. She stood and pulled back the covers, guiding him to lie down. He scooted over and tugged on her arm, wordlessly asking her to join him.  
  
"I'll be there in just a minute," she whispered, extracting her hand. "Just let me go to the bathroom."  
  
He struggled valiantly to stay awake until she returned. His eyes were closed when he heard the door open and her footsteps shuffle across the room. There was a soft swish that could only be his shirt falling from her shoulders to the floor, and then she was creeping into the bed, obviously trying not to awaken him. He reached for her automatically, drawing her close. Her head rested on one of his arms, while his other arm wrapped around her, pressing her back against his chest, intertwining their legs. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the sweet smell of her shampoo, then sighed contentedly. He was asleep instantly.  
  
He knew it was a dream, but that didn't make the terror any less real. There was no plot to this dream, no dialogue. Just image after horrible image. Flashes of her body laying in front of him, her life seeping out her with every beat of her heart, her blood spilling on the earth. She tried to speak, tried to cry out, but that was no longer an option. The surroundings kept changing. They were inside. They were outside. They were in familiar places: the lab, his home, her home, the strip. They were in unfamiliar places: a field, a building, a church. But no matter where they were, her throat was slit and he could do nothing but watch as she slipped out of his life.  
  
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his eyes opened and he escaped the terrorizing grip of sleep. The images haunted him still, and he was glad for the light streaming in through the windows, thankful for once that their nights were brightly lit. She was not dead. She was not hurt. She was asleep in his arms, one hand resting on his hand where it lay splayed across her stomach. She was so peaceful in sleep. It was the Sara that no one else saw. Awake she was a ball of energy, jumping from one project to the next, never slowing down. Asleep, she was an angel, relaxed and so vulnerable.  
  
He nuzzled against her, shifting his legs to brush against hers and hugging her as tightly as he could without startling her. He let go of her waist and brushed her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear so he could layer kisses along her neck and face wherever he could reach without moving too much; light, lazy kisses that were more about adoration than passion.  
  
She sighed, then stretched, snuggling back against him and pulling his arm back around her. He felt a smile spread across his face and he eagerly obliged, hugging her tightly. She said nothing, though he knew she was awake now, laying in his arms and occasionally shifting to grant him freer access or sighing with contentment.  
  
His hand traveled up and cupped the soft swell of her breast, stroking the peak lightly until it formed a tight bud. She arched into his touch, moaning quietly. Then she wiggled in his grip until she had turned to face him, dazzling him with a beautiful smile before pulling his head down to reacquaint their lips.  
  
Their kisses and touches were soft and gentle and their lovemaking took on a dreamlike quality. All of the frantic passion of earlier had been replaced with tender affection, and when he heard her climax, just seconds before he crested himself, he could have sworn her cry of pleasure was tinged with sadness.  
  
He lay on his back afterwards, holding her close, unable to bear the thought of letting go. Suddenly he was all too aware this would be their only night together. Tomorrow things between them would have to go back to normal, or whatever twisted torture they were pretending was normal. For a moment he was tempted to throw caution to the wind, to tell her he no longer cared what happened to his career, he no longer was worried that some day in the not-so-distant future she'd run away with a younger, more attractive man leaving him broken and hopeless. For a moment, none of those things mattered, and all he could think about was loving her and having the right to lay with her like this every night, sated and sweet, her body draped across his, her fingers drawing random patterns on his chest. Then reality set in, and he knew it couldn't be, and he was overwhelmed by a sadness so acute he thought it might kill him.  
  
They were silent for a long time before he finally whispered, "I love you, Sara."  
  
"I love you, too, Gil," she whispered, her voice thick with emotions.  
  
He closed his eyes and replayed her words in his mind again and again until he fell into a troubled sleep.


	3. 3

**A/N: **Thanks for all the wonderful feedback so far. I tried to make the timing clear with the narrative, but for those who are confused, the March sections are the current time and the January sections are the flashbacks. Each successive flashback will get you closer to the current time, explaining how we got where we are.

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**------------------------------------ MARCH --------------------------------------**  
  
Sara smiled as brightly as she could, knowing even as she did so that it would look forced.  
  
"See, I told you you'd love it."  
  
Nick scooped another spoonful of steaming stir fry from his Tupperware container to her plate, and Sara's stomach rolled again.  
  
"Thanks, really, but I'm fine." The smell was permeating her senses now and she knew that smiling was no longer going to be enough to suppress the gag reflex. She made a quick and probably incoherent excuse and fled the break room.  
  
She made it to the bathroom just in time, heaving the meager contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. Once she was certain she was finished, she wiped her mouth with toilet paper and flushed, but didn't move from where she was crouched on the floor. She placed her hands on the seat and let her head rest against them, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths as she tried not to think of the number of germs she was coming into contact with.  
  
The bathroom door opened and she scurried to her feet, grimacing as the sudden movement prompted another wave of nausea. She heard another stall door close and she opened hers, moving quickly to the sinks. She scrubbed her hands, then dampened a paper towel and wiped off her face and neck.  
  
The toilet flushed and Sara quickly dropped the paper towels into the trashcan and headed for the door, not wanting to make polite chitchat with whoever was in the other stall.  
  
She stood in the hallway, indecisive for a minute, then decided to abandon the rest of her lunch break and headed for a small evidence room. She retrieved the box of evidence she had been going over earlier, and laid out the bloody towels. Samples had already been sent to DNA, but she was hoping to find fibers or a unique pattern that would give her more information.  
  
Before she got far, she heard a knock at the door and looked up just in time to see Nick enter the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Hey, Nick. What's up?"  
  
He looked serious and a little nervous, and suddenly Sara was worried about what he might have come to tell her. "Hey, Sar. Can I talk to you for a minute?"  
  
"Sure," she said slowly.  
  
He took a deep breath. "Look, I know you probably are going to be mad at me for even asking this, but I swear I'm only doing it because I care about you. It's just that, well...." Sara's brow furrowed as Nick faltered, then surged forward. "I've noticed that you haven't been eating much lately. I can't remember the last time I saw you sit and eat. And then today you ate and then made a beeline for the bathroom. And you've always been thin, but.... One of my girlfriends in college was bulimic. And I'm not saying that you ARE bulimic, I'm just saying that maybe you've been having some food issues lately and I'm worried it could turn into that. I saw how hard and scary it was for her and I don't want that to happen to you. And I want you to know that if you need to talk to me, I'm here."  
  
Sara was stunned for a minute. A part of her wanted to be mad, but another part of her was touched that Nick was obviously worried about her and cared enough to confront her. Still another part of her wanted to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it. First Brass and his pointed questions about alcohol, now this.  
  
"I'm not bulimic, Nick. I swear, I'm not."  
  
She could see the skepticism in his eyes, so she continued. "Look, you're right. Something's going on with me right now and I'm not handling it really well. But I swear it's not that. I'm not ready to talk about it yet, but when I am...I just might take you up on that offer. It means a lot to me that you care. And I do appreciate you coming to me, rather than just asking around and spreading rumors or something."  
  
"I wouldn't do that."  
  
"I know," she said softly, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.  
  
He hung back for another second, then grabbed her impulsively and hugged her tightly. "If you want to talk...anytime, anyplace, okay? Just call me."  
  
She nodded, sniffling. He pulled back finally and she swiped at her eyes, forcing a laugh. "Don't mind me, I've just been a little emotional lately."  
  
Nick smiled tentatively, then started for the door.  
  
"Hey, Nick?" She waited until he'd turned back around. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"  
  
"About what?" he replied with a smile, exiting the room.  
  
**-------------------------------- JANUARY ----------------------------------------**  
  
Sara kept her eyelids firmly closed, desperately trying to remain asleep even though she knew the battle was futile. After a few more moments she finally relented, opening her eyes and smiling wistfully at the brilliant colors of the setting sun framed in her window. It was time to get up and start getting ready for work, but she couldn't bring herself to sit up quite yet. She shifted and he cuddled her instinctively, still deep in the grip of sleep. She turned her head slightly and pressed a kiss to his bare chest, earning a contented sigh.  
  
Then she extricated herself from his embrace, careful not to wake him. Forcing herself not to look at him, which would only make this harder than it already was, she walked straight to the bathroom. It was only once the hot water was sluicing over her body that she let the tears fall. It was over. In a matter of minutes, he'd awaken and walk out of her apartment. Even though she'd known from the beginning this moment was inevitable, the pain was unbearable.  
  
She wallowed in her tears for a moment, then forcibly pulled herself together. She'd promised him she could handle this. The least she could do was wait until he was gone to break down.  
  
She washed quickly, then stepped out of the shower, toweling off and blotting as much water from her hair as she could. Wrapping the towel securely around her body, she reached for the door, bracing herself. He might be gone already, she reminded herself. If he was still there, he likely was awake and dressed waiting to say an awkward goodbye before disappearing.  
  
Instead, she found him still fast asleep, his arm flung across the spot where she had been sleeping only a short while ago. He was still exhausted, she realized. He'd gone far too long without sleeping and last night hadn't exactly been a chance for him to catch up on his rest. She glanced at the clock, wincing. If he didn't get up within the next few minutes, he wouldn't have time to go home and shower and change before work. She was tempted just to let him sleep and to call in sick for him, but there was no way to do that without arousing suspicions.  
  
She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his curls softly, then rubbing his back. "Gil," she whispered. "Wake up for just a minute."  
  
His eyes fluttered open and he smiled sleepily at her. "There you are," he said softly, tugging her down for a kiss. Their lips parted slowly and she rested her forehead against his.  
  
"It's late," she said finally, forcing herself to pull away from him. "I think you should call in tonight. You're exhausted and there's no way you should be working. You can stay here as long as you want, I'll leave you a key. Or I can take you home if you'd rather sleep there. But I really don't want you to drive anywhere."  
  
His eyes were closed and he didn't respond. She smiled and shook his shoulder gently. "Grissom, you have to call in. I can't do it for you. I would, but.... I can't. You know that."  
  
"My phone...." he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.  
  
She reached for her phone, sitting on the nightstand, then realized he was right. He needed to call from his cell phone, otherwise the caller ID would display her number. She stood and looked around quickly, securing her towel as she did so. She found his pants near the foot of the bed and dug his cell phone out of the pocket.  
  
She brought it to him, perching on the edge of the bed once again, stroking his hair until his eyes opened.  
  
"Thank you," he said, taking the phone. She continued stroking his hair as he pushed a few buttons and raised it to his ear. "Hey, Cath.... No, I'm not.... Yeah, I know.... Okay, thanks. Call if you need me." He snapped the phone shut and handed it back to her, settling into the pillow.  
  
She stood, but froze when he spoke again. "Come back to bed."  
  
"I can't. I have to go to work."  
  
His eyes cracked open and he looked at her through the thin slits. "Today's your day off."  
  
"What, do you have my schedule memorized?" she asked, trying to infuse her voice with a teasing vibe.  
  
"There's a lot about you that I have memorized, Sara."  
  
His soft confession twisted in her stomach. Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, she returned to the subject at hand. "I know it's my day off, but I was going to go in anyway. I...."  
  
"You have no open cases, Sara. There is absolutely no reason for you to go in tonight. I don't need you there, I need you here. Please come back to bed."  
  
Against her will, her feet carried her back to the bed. She stood there hesitantly, unable to make a decision. In all honestly, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with him and delay the inevitable. But already she was on the verge of tears. Walking away from him after last night was going to be the hardest thing she'd ever have to do. If it got any harder, she really wasn't sure she'd be able to stand it.  
  
Her hands gripped the top of the towel. His arm moved, throwing back the covers and beckoning her. In one swift motion, she released the towel and crawled into bed. His arms tightened around her immediately and he buried his face in the crook of her neck.  
  
"My hair's still wet," she apologized.  
  
He mumbled something incomprehensible and nuzzled against her, his soft whiskers tickling her sensitive skin. She made a soft sound of contentment and wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back and running her fingers through his soft hair until his breathing evened out and she knew he was asleep.  
  
She felt the tug of sleep, but she fought the urge. They had so little time together, she didn't want to waste anymore of it.  
  
The numbers on the digital clocked ticked forward at a maddeningly fast pace. She tried to ignore the neon digits, focusing instead on the feel of his body beside her: his strong arms wrapped around her, his legs intertwined with hers. He cuddled her instinctively in his sleep, whispering her name occasionally. Each time, she responded with words of love, holding him tighter and smiling through her tears.  
  
Finally she could no longer stand to lie in the bed unmoving. Her muscles ached and the emotional strain was becoming too much. She extricated herself from his embrace carefully, making every effort not to wake him.  
  
In the kitchen, feet bare and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, she puttered around, making coffee and examining the contents of her refrigerator. She wasn't really hungry, but it had been a good twelve hours since she ate last, and she didn't even want to hazard a guess as to when Grissom had last eaten. A glance toward the bedroom told her he was still fast asleep and she debated the food options. She settled for spaghetti, dumping the noodles into a pot of boiling water and chopping a few vegetables to add to the store-bought sauce. It was a quick and easy meal, but also one that would reheat easily.  
  
Of course, there was no saying he would want to stay for dinner. He'd been eager for her presence in his sleep, but once he awakened, he might well decide it would be best to leave quickly, ripping off the metaphorical band- aid.  
  
She pushed that thought from her mind and focused on stirring the sauce, keeping an eye on the boiling water. His hands on her waist startled her, catching her off guard. His hands slid around her, tugging her back until she was molded to him. "I woke up and you were gone."  
  
"I couldn't lie in bed any longer," she told him sheepishly. "I spent more time in bed today than I normally do in a week."  
  
He released her, and she saw he was wearing his boxers and nothing more. He looked completely at home standing half-naked in her kitchen, leaning against a countertop.  
  
"The food's nearly ready. If you want, you can take a shower. It should be ready by the time you get out."  
  
He pushed off the counter, kissing her cheek as he headed toward the bathroom. "You're awfully good to me."  
  
It was the kind of statement that didn't require an answer and the only appropriate response would be something lighthearted and teasing. But she wasn't in a lighthearted mood. "I love you," she said softly.  
  
He stopped and turned back to face her. For a moment, panic seized her as she realized that words appropriate in the tender moments of lovemaking might not be welcomed in the stark light of day. It didn't matter, she told herself. It was true and she meant it and whether or not he returned her feelings, she wanted him to know.  
  
He held her gaze for another moment and she squirmed as she felt him looking into her soul. "I love you, too," he said finally, his voice quiet and deep. Then he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.  
  
When he reappeared a short while later, fully dressed, she was setting the table. He tugged her into a brief embrace and she ran her fingers through his wet curls. They separated and sat to eat, enjoying the food in relative silence. Neither wanted to discuss what they were both thinking about and any other topic seemed inane and meaningless. Afterwards, he offered to help with the dishes, but she shooed him out of the kitchen, assuring him she'd take care of them later.  
  
"What are you going to do today?" he asked as she wandered into the living room.  
  
"I don't know. I was planning to go to work.... I'll probably just hang around the apartment. Maybe read. I think there's something on TV I wanted to watch tonight. I'll have to check."  
  
He nodded, and they stood there awkwardly, neither wanting to be the first to bring up the inevitable separation.  
  
"I should probably go," he said finally. "Let you get back to...."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
They were silent as he gathered his things and she walked him to the door. He reached for the doorknob, then stopped and turned to face her. His hand reached up and caressed her cheek and when he spoke, his voice was thick and ragged. "Sara, I don't know what to say."  
  
"You don't have to say anything," she replied.  
  
"I don't want to do this," he said suddenly. "I don't want to walk away from you."  
  
"You don't have to. I'm right here. I don't want you to go."  
  
His eyes closed and he hung his head, the picture of a defeated man. "I have to. It's the right thing to do. It's the only way...."  
  
"I'm not going to beg you, Gil. I promised you I could do this; I could be happy with one night. But you have to know I'd be happier if you stayed. We could find a way to make it work. I know we could."  
  
"Are you sorry?" he asked quietly. "Do you wish I hadn't come home with you last night?"  
  
"No. I'll treasure last night for the rest of my life. I'll never regret it."  
  
His lips covered hers, infusing her with his love and with his reluctance to leave. He pulled away and their eyes met again, holding on to each other as long as possible. "I have to go now," he said finally.  
  
She nodded.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Me too," she said softly, watching as he opened the door. He stepped out into the hallway and she repressed the urge to call out for him, begging him to stay. Instead she closed the door on his retreating back, his slumped shoulders. She leaned against the door, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, her head resting on her knees. She expected tears, welcomed them even, but none came.  
  
It was later, when the sheets were in the washer and she was drying the dinner dishes, all evidence he'd ever been in her home now erased, that she broke down, surrendering to the sobs that wracked her body.


	4. 4

**A/N**: Only one more section after this one. This will be the last section with a flashback - after this you should understand exactly how they got where they are. The final section will just deal with the resolution of March storyline. Part five should be up on Monday. Enjoy and thanks again for all the feedback. It's greatly appreciated.

****

****

**----------------------------------------------- MARCH ----------------------------------------  
**  
"Hey," she said softly. "Thanks for coming."  
  
She stepped aside and watched as he entered her apartment. His face was a mix of emotions, but mostly confusion.  
  
"Sara, what's going on? You sounded upset in your message."  
  
"Could you do me a favor?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Turn off your cell phone and pager. Just for a couple of minutes. I have to tell you something, and I don't think I can work up the courage twice. I have to get it all out without being interrupted." She could tell that he was terrified and her request was doing little to assuage his fears. But her fear equaled his and she couldn't offer him any comfort at this point. "Let's sit on the couch."  
  
He did as he was asked, then followed her obediently, sitting sideways on the couch to face her. She deliberated for a moment, then reached out and took his hands in hers.  
  
Suddenly he pulled back, leaning away from her and running a hand through his hair nervously. "Sara, if you're going to tell me that you don't want to be with me, just do it. I can't stand this."  
  
"No! That's not it."  
  
"Then what? What could possibly be so bad? Are you sick? Are you leaving? What's wrong?" His voice had taken on a panicked tone as he rattled off his questions, the pitch becoming steadily higher with each inquiry.  
  
"I'm pregnant." The words slipped out before she could stop them. She'd had a little speech prepared, bracing him for the news and telling him about symptoms she'd been putting together over the last couple of weeks. But all of that was moot now.  
  
He gaped at her silently for a moment before attempting to speak. "You're…pregnant.? As in, having a baby?"  
  
"No, Grissom, some other kind of pregnant," she said, rolling her eyes. She knew he was reeling from the shock, but she was too nervous to deal with his ridiculous questions.  
  
"How? When? I don't… How?"  
  
"I would think the how is rather self-explanatory."  
  
"But we're always so careful. And we've only been together for three weeks. Is it even possible to know yet? Maybe you're just … off track."  
  
"We haven't always been so careful," she said softly. "I'm not just … off track. I went to the gynecologist this morning. I'm two months pregnant."  
  
"Two months?" Suddenly the pieces all fell together for him and she could see the understanding play out across his features. "That night…."  
  
She nodded. "We didn't use anything. I didn't even think about it until later. I remember because I was stunned later when I realized what we'd done. I've never done that before, had unprotected sex. Ever. I couldn't believe it never even crossed my mind. But that was night was so…."  
  
"Yeah. It never crossed my mind either. All I could think about was how much I needed you."  
  
They were silent for a minute and her stomach churned. She was terrified and she needed him to tell her that it was going to be all right. She needed him to tell her that he would be there. That he still loved her and that he'd love their baby.  
  
"Have you thought about…what you're going to do?"  
  
She cringed at his use of the singular pronoun.  
  
"Whatever you decide, you know I'll support you, right?"  
  
"I want to keep the baby," she said softly. She had known all along that it could be her only choice. Though she'd spent her entire life as a staunch supporter of a woman's right to choose, it just wasn't something she could consider in this situation. Over the past few weeks, as she tried to deny the changes that were happening to her body, she'd come to think of this baby as just that…a baby. Her baby. And Grissom's baby. She'd never been overly maternal, and in all honesty had never really believed she'd ever be a mother. But faced with the possibility, suddenly it didn't seem like the worst option.  
  
His silence scared her. "Griss?"  
  
"I'm just thinking, Sara."  
  
"You don't…. I mean, if you don't want to be involved, you don't have to. I can do it on my own."  
  
"No! God, no. That's not what I was thinking at all."  
  
She waited, but he didn't clarify what he was thinking, leaving her to draw her own conclusions. She knew how much he valued his privacy. Her intrusion into his solitary life had come at a steep price for him. It had taken him years to get used to the idea, and she was pretty sure that while he did love her, he still struggled with it on a daily basis. A child would be…unimaginable. They hadn't even had time to settle into their life as a couple; they were nowhere near ready to take on the role of parents.  
  
For the millionth time, she wondered if she was making the wrong decision. The idea of having Grissom's child had grown on her over the last few weeks, but it was obvious now was not the ideal time. Maybe it would be best to terminate this pregnancy. She and Grissom could work on nurturing their relationship, rather than a child. And then maybe someday, when they were both ready, they could have a child.   
  
Her hands fluttered automatically to her still-flat stomach, as if trying to protect the child she carried from the unseen forces of her negative thoughts. She didn't want another baby somewhere down the line. She wanted this baby. The night their child had been conceived was without a doubt the most important, most incredible night of her life. The fact that their love had created a child…. She just couldn't do it. She couldn't get rid of this baby.  
  
"I don't know what to say, Sara."  
  
She swallowed roughly, fighting back the tears. "You don't have to say anything."  
  
"I just need some time to process all of this. It's…overwhelming."  
  
"I know."  
  
His eyes darted to the door and she knew he was feeling trapped and was desperate for her blessing to leave.  
  
"Go ahead," she said softly. "Why don't you go for a walk, or go home, or do whatever it is you do when you need to think. We can talk about this later."  
  
"Sara…. I'm not trying to run away. I want to be here. I just…."  
  
"I know. It's fine, really. I'm exhausted. I really just want to go to bed."  
  
"Are you all right? God, I didn't even ask you how you feel. Are you sick? Do you need anything? Did the doctor give you vitamins?"  
  
She smiled slightly for the first time since the doctor had confirmed her suspicions that morning. "I'm fine. Being tired is normal, as is the morning sickness I've been dealing with. Actually, from what I can tell, I've had it pretty easy so far. I've just had a couple of bad reactions to certain foods and smells."  
  
"Vitamins?"  
  
"Not yet. I have an appointment with an obstetrician on Wednesday." She paused. "You can come if you want."  
  
He nodded slowly. "All right…. I'm just going to…go for awhile. Call me if you need anything. Anything, Sara. I'll make sure I have my phone on."  
  
She walked him to the door, opening it and leaning against it as he paused in the doorway.  
  
"I love you, Sara," he said before brushing his lips across her forehead. Then he disappeared down the hallway.  
  
She stood in the middle of her living room for a few minutes, her mind still whirling from their conversation. Finally, unable to think about the situation any longer, she made her way to the bedroom and stripped out of her clothes, letting them lay where they fell on the floor. She snagged one of Grissom's T-shirts from the top of the laundry hamper and slipped it over her head, inhaling his scent. Then she climbed into bed and gave into the sobs she'd been holding back all morning. Eventually exhaustion overtook her, and she fell asleep still clutching her damp pillow.  
  
**----------------------------------------------------- FEBRUARY** ----------------------------------  
  
He was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her back. In the month since they'd spent twelve emotionally-charged hours making love and holding each other, she'd caught him staring at her more times than she could count. A number of times their eyes had met, and he'd refused to look away, his gaze searing her with its intensity.  
  
Their working relationship since that night had become more relaxed. Though they still had moments of tension, it was better than the constant fighting they had been subjecting everyone to. If the other members of the team noticed things had changed between the two most private members of their shift, they attributed it to Grissom's wake up call: seeing Debbie Marlin's body and knowing one never knew how much time they had left with the people they cared about. Perhaps, they thought, he'd decided fighting was a waste of time. And everyone knew Sara and Grissom's attitudes were dependent upon each other's. If he was treating her nicely, it made sense that she was happier and easier to work with. The thought that the change in their relationship stemmed from a night of unrestrained passion never entered anyone's mind.  
  
She was thankful for the change. Though she still struggled with the emotional toll of wanting more our of their relationship than she could have, it was good to work with him again. Their silent communication and synergistic coordination made work so much more fun. She felt more alive now.   
  
All too aware of his eyes still on her, Sara tried to ignore him and focus on the plethora of photos spread on the drying table. She and Catherine had been studying them for nearly an hour, noting the similarities and differences of two crime scenes in an attempt to determine if the murders were related.  
  
Grissom was in the hallway having a conversation with Warrick about the results of the trace analysis on the case they were working, but Sara knew if she looked up, his eyes would be looking past Warrick through the glass. It unnerved her, but still she relished it. It was comforting to know she was not the only one still agonizing over their nonexistent relationship.  
  
"How's it going in here?" His voice cut through her thoughts and she flinched.   
  
"It's going," Catherine replied, not bothering to look up.   
  
He moved closer, so close she could feel him as surely as if they'd been touching. "What are you looking at?"  
  
"The ligatures," she replied, praying the quiver in voice wasn't audible to anyone but herself. "See, there are similarities - the type of material, the positioning - but the knots are different. I'm trying to figure out if there was a reason he'd use a different knot based on the individual victim…or if it's just a different guy who happened to have a similar ligature style."  
  
His hand closed over hers, guiding the magnifying glass from one picture to another so he could see what she was seeing. Her heart raced and her hand burned where it touched his. This too was not uncommon for them.   
  
As if that night had freed him from the restraints he'd always kept in place when dealing with her, he'd since taken to touching her casually at every available opportunity, his hands lingering and reminding her of the sensations they were capable of creating. There were times she was tempted to jerk away from him, to yell at him and tell him to stop teasing her. But she couldn't do it. They fed off each other. Every touch strengthened them.  
  
He let go finally, and she dropped the magnifying glass to the table, her hand fluttering to her necklace. She ran the pendant back and forth across the silver chain in an unconscious nervous gesture. His eyes followed the motion, and she realized what she was doing. She stopped immediately, dropping her hands to the table. She expected him to look up and meet her gaze, but his eyes stayed glued to her throat. He paled and withdrew visibly. Her brow furrowed as she watched him retreat, concerned that something was seriously wrong.  
  
"Uh, well, keep looking. I'm sure you'll find something," he said, edging toward the door. "I have to…."  
  
He hurried back into the hallway, nearly crashing into the doorframe in his haste. She watched as he headed back to his office and made a split-second decision.  
  
"Hey, Cath, I'm gonna take a quick break. My eyes are killing me. I'll be back in a minute."  
  
Catherine looked up and raised an eyebrow, but nodded silently and went back to studying her photos. Sara hurried down the hallway as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself.   
  
The door to his office was closed and the light appeared to be off, so she hesitated before knocking. When there was no response, she twisted the knob and opened the door tentatively. He was sitting at his desk in the dim light that struggled in past the closed blinds, head in his hands. She didn't move, and when he looked up, she expected him to ask her to leave.  
  
"Come in and shut the door," he said quietly. "Lock it."  
  
Her concern deepened, but she did as he asked. "God, Grissom. What's wrong?"  
  
"I need you to do me a favor." His voice was strained and he was avoiding her gaze.  
  
"What? Tell me."  
  
"I need you to take that necklace off."  
  
"Excuse me?" she asked, sure she had heard him wrong. Her fingers went to the pendant again, gripping the colorful butterfly. "My necklace?"  
  
"Take it off. Please, Sara." His voice was so agonized she did it immediately, though she was still baffled by the request.  
  
"It's off. I put it in my pocket." She watched as his eyes bored into her neck, proving to himself that the offending piece of jewelry had been disposed of. "What in the world is going on?   
  
He tried to speak, but couldn't, so he settled for motioning for her to come closer. He stood as she approached and took her into his arms, holding her so tightly she had to struggle for air. She clung to him, stroking his hair and whispering words of comfort.  
  
"What's wrong? Talk to me. You're scaring me, Gil."  
  
He was quiet for a long time and she worried he would never tell her what had upset him so badly. Finally, he broke his silence, his voice trembling. "She collected butterflies. There were so many of them. She had a butterfly tattooed on her back. Her boyfriends bought her butterfly jewelry. Seeing that butterfly…on your neck. Sara…."  
  
There was no question in her mind who "she" was. "Okay…. It's okay…. I had no idea. I'm sorry. I won't wear it anymore."  
  
He stayed in her arms for another minute, soaking in her strength. Then he began to tense. "I'm sorry," he said, pulling away. "I shouldn't have overreacted like that. I'm fine."  
  
She watched as he built up his walls again, each phrase shutting her out further.  
  
"I should get back to Catherine," she said reluctantly, giving him the out he obviously wanted. "If you need me…."  
  
He nodded and she slipped out the door and back into the hallway, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright light.  
  
The knock on her door was tentative. If she hadn't been sitting silently in her living room trying unsuccessfully to read a novel, she might not have heard it at all. Her first thought was of him, because her first thought was always of him, but she shook her head and reminded herself there was a different between fantasy and reality.  
  
She looked through the peephole and inhaled sharply. He stood on the other side still dressed in his clothes from work, shifting uncomfortably. Hurriedly, she turned the locks, swinging the door open. His eyes met hers, but he said nothing.  
  
She stepped aside and he moved past her into the small apartment. He wandered into the living room and she followed, waiting for him to explain.  
  
"I can't do this anymore."  
  
She was struck by a sudden wave of nausea. She had wondered if it would come to this. She had wondered if eventually it was going to get to be too hard, and one of them was going to have to leave. As much as she sometimes dreaded the torture of seeing him and being unable to act on her feelings, the thought of never seeing him again was infinitely worse.  
  
"You want me to leave," she said hollowly.   
  
He looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then his confused look was replaced with one of horror. "No! God, Sara, that's the last thing I want. That's not what I meant, honey. I swear." He had pulled her into his arms during his brief tirade, and she felt herself relax against him as he held her tight and stroked her back. "I love you, Sara. I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend it doesn't mean anything to me. I can't pretend we're just friends. I can't watch you at work and then go home to my empty house. I need you."  
  
There was no stopping the tears that had begun to flow. They seeped into the soft cotton of his shirt as her body shook slightly with each sob.   
  
"I know," he said, stroking her back. "I've been so miserable, too."  
  
"Tell me this isn't just about the necklace," she said softly. "Tell me you're not going to wake up in the morning and realize I'm alive and well and you don't have to reassure yourself of that anymore so it's okay to walk away from me. Tell me…."  
  
"I love you, Sara. This isn't about the necklace. Yes, that brought things to a head today, but after the initial terror, I wasn't thinking about that. I was thinking about that night. I was remembering how incredibly wonderful it was - beyond words - and I was dying inside thinking I could never have that again."  
  
"I've dreamed of this moment for so long. I just kept praying that you'd come back But now that it's happening, I'm terrified. I'm so scared you're going to wake up in the morning, or wake up some morning in the near future, and decide you don't need me anymore, that you were better off before."  
  
"I'm scared, too, Sara. I'm convinced you're going to wake up one morning and realize you're throwing your life away with me. I'm so much older than you and I'm stuck in my ways and I'm emotionally unavailable most of the time. I'm married to my work. I'm difficult to live with. Why in the world would you want anything to do with me?"  
  
"I love you," she whispered.  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
It wasn't a guarantee, but there were no guarantees, she realized. There was only trust and love.  
  
tbc


	5. 5

**A/N - **Well, here is the final section. It's all in the present time - no flashbacks in this section. Thanks again to everyone who has left feedback, either here or elsewhere. You've been a great encouragement. And thanks again to Mystery and Sidlesmile, who's help was invaluable - especially Sidlesmile who went above and beyond the call of duty by inspiring the story with her wonderful video and then beta reading it too.

****

** ------------------------------------------------------ MARCH -------------------------------------  
**  
He wasn't sure how he wound up back at the lab. He hadn't consciously decided to go there, but suddenly he was parking in the employee lot and making his way to his office. He walked zombie-like through the busy halls, failing to acknowledge the nods and hellos tossed in his direction.   
  
In his office, he wandered from tank to tank, looking at his unusual menagerie of pets with an unseeing eye.   
  
A baby. He still could not wrap his mind around the concept. He was going to be a father.  
  
Though he had never been accused of being overly paternal, he'd always had a soft spot of children. He pretended to be annoyed when Catherine brought Lindsey into the office, but they both knew it was just an act. He'd enjoyed watching her grow up over the years, and he'd never missed a single birthday or Christmas.   
  
The other children in his life were fleeting presences; battered bodies and bruised souls who had seen far too much in far too short a time. Every time he processed a child who had been hurt or killed, often by a person who should have been willing to give their life to protect the child's well being, he was filled with rage. His eyes closed and he shuddered as he recalled the soft weight of the limp body he'd found beneath a tree on a golf course a few years earlier. He'd worked like a man possessed on that case, desperately hoping to find the baby alive, then trying madly to nail the person responsible. In the end, it hadn't been that simple. Zachary's death had been a tragic accident, preventable perhaps with closer supervision, but not malicious or neglectful. So in the end, everyone suffered, but no one paid. In a way, it was worse than cases with a clear bad guy. There was no place to point the finger, no person to pay for their actions.  
  
Children's lives were so fragile, and they faced so many dangers. How would he ever be able to protect a child from all the lurking threats?  
  
There were other concerns. He was too old to be starting a family. By the time their child graduated from high school, he'd be pushing seventy. And though he knew Sara would argue that either of them could be hit by a bus tomorrow, the reality was that he'd probably never live to see his grandchildren and there was a possibility that he'd leave her to finish raising their child on her own. Even if he did live long enough to see their child well into his or her adulthood, was he capable of forging a healthy relationship? Would their child grow to resent him for his emotional distance? How could he be a good father when he had no role model? Even if he could keep their child safe from physical harm, the threat of emotional harm was still a very real problem. His stomach twisted and he knew this was his real fear.   
  
What did he have to offer a child? Anything?   
  
He closed his eyes and for a moment he could picture a small child with indistinguishable characteristics laughing and playing. Sara's smile. God, he hoped their child would inherit that smile.  
  
His stomach plummeted, and for a minute he thought he'd be ill. What else would their child inherit? Though his doctor had argued that the did not know yet whether otosclerosis was genetic, he was convinced that it must be. His mother had passed it down to him and now he would pass it down to his child. Would that be all his child had to remember him by someday - memories of an emotionally distant father and a genetic hearing loss.  
  
He sat at his desk and buried his face in his hand, overwhelmed.  
  
"Lovers spat?" His head jerked up and he grimaced as he saw Catherine leaning casually against his doorframe. She smirked and continued. "You've been in here pacing for a half hour. I know you're not in the middle of a case, so the way I see it, there can only be one reason you're here in the middle of the day looking as if you've lost your best friend. What's the fight about? Did you leave experiments in her fridge?"  
  
He shook his head, willing her to disappear. He didn't have the energy today to deal with the force that was Catherine.   
  
"You're not going to deny that this is about Sara, are you? You know, we're not blind. We all know you've finally pulled your head out of your ass and acted on the feelings you've obviously both harbored for years. Frankly, we're relieved. It's about damn time."  
  
"Catherine…."  
  
"So the way I see it, you've had - what? - two, thre weeks of the honeymoon period so far. You two are due for your first fight. But you're freaking out, right? It's just a fight, Gil. She'll get over it. If it's really bad, send her flowers."  
  
"You have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
"Sure I do. You think I haven't had my share of lover's spats? You're just new to the game. Trust me, she's not as mad as she seems. She'll forgive you - god knows, she always has before. If she could put up with the shit you put her through in the last four years, I'm sure she'll get over this, whatever it is."  
  
He was beginning to get angry. He was stressed and worried and the last thing he needed right now was a relationship counseling from Catherine.  
  
"She's not mad. And that's all I'm going to say about this. I don't want to talk about this, Catherine. It's none of your business."  
  
"I'm not trying to be nosy. I'm just offering you a little friendly advice."  
  
"I don't want your advice, Catherine. I want to be left alone."  
  
"So you can continue sulking and let Sara stew for awhile. Good plan, Gil. Jesus, just go apologize. Is that really so difficult? What is it with men? You can never just -"  
  
"Catherine you have no idea what you're talking about!" His arms flew in the air in frustration as his voice rose steadily. He made no attempt to disguise his anger. "Sara and I are not fighting, and I don't owe her an apology. Well, in retrospect, I may owe her an apology for the way I reacted, but I'm pretty damn sure she doesn't want me to apologize for the baby. Somehow I think that would only make things worse."  
  
A tense silence filled the air, broken only by his uneven breathing.  
  
"The baby?" Catherine said finally, her voice incredulous.  
  
"Shit," he swore, as his words caught up with him. "Forget you heard that. Please."  
  
"Gil…."  
  
Her buried his face in his hands again. How could he have let that slip? Sara was going to murder him. As if they didn't have enough problems right now.  
  
"How? When? You've only been dating for a couple of weeks?"  
  
"I'm not discussing this with you Catherine."  
  
She was deadly serious now, all vestiges of her teasing demeanor vanished as she shut his door and took a seat across from him. "You're sure? And you're having it?"  
  
He nodded. "That's what she says she wants."  
  
Catherine nodded, processing that response. "Okay, I know you didn't mean to tell me this, but it's out now and you can't take it back. We've been friends for the better part of two decades, Gil, and as much as Sara and I have had our differences, I've come to care about her a lot. And I would never forgive myself if I walked out of here without saying two things."  
  
"There's nothing you can do, Catherine," he said, meeting her eyes for the first time since his unwitting revelation.  
  
She ignored him and held up one finger. "First, I know I've given you a hard time in the past about being insensitive, but you are one of the best men I've ever known, and I would trust you with my life. More than that, I would trust you with Lindsey's life. Being a parent is not an easy job for anyone, but I sincerely believe that no child could ask for a better father than you."  
  
Her voice rang with sincerity, and even though he wasn't totally convinced, her words and tone soothed him slightly.  
  
"Now, let me ask you something. You just said that Sara told you she wants to keep the baby. What did you say when she told you that?"  
  
He sighed and averted his eyes, dodging her gaze. "I…. I told her that I'd support any decision she makes."  
  
"Do you love her?"  
  
He debated telling her that it was none of her business, then decided he was sick of hiding his feelings for Sara. "Yes."  
  
"Did you tell her that?"  
  
He hesitated, trying to remember. "I think so."  
  
"Here's the other thing I have to say to you before I leave and let you deal with this on your own: She's just as terrified as you are. You know that right? She's probably doing a damned good job of hiding it, because God forbid Sara Sidle ever look weak. But trust me, she's terrified. And on top of all her fears about becoming a mother, she's also afraid that you're either going to leave her or spend the rest of your life resenting her for trapping you."  
  
"That's not true! I would never leave her…and she's not trapping me. I love her."  
  
Catherine smiled knowingly. "It's not me you need to convince." She paused for a minute. "Look, I'm not going to pretend to understand exactly what is going on. But I know you need to be with her right now, not here. You have to deal with this together. She needs you, Gil."  
  
He nodded and watched as she stood and left his office. She was right, of course. Sara needed him, and to be honest, he needed her. This wasn't something they could deal with separately. They both had fears and questions, and it was time they started facing them together.

---------------------------------------------------------------

He raised his hand to knock, then stopped and pulled his keys out of his pocket, singling out the key she'd given him last week and sliding it into the lock.  
  
"Sara?" he called quietly, stepping inside and securing the door behind him.  
  
When she didn't respond, he walked down the hallway and peered into her bedroom. She was curled up under the covers, her arms wrapped around a pillow. He crept closer, and crouched in front of her. He brushed her hair from her face and cringed when he saw the dried tear tracks on her cheeks. He stroked her hair, then rubbed her back gently, sighing when he realized she was wearing one of his T-shirts. She sighed and shifted sleepily, but didn't wake up.  
  
He was torn. Part of him wanted to wake her up and tell her he was sorry and that they would handle this together. But another part wanted to crawl in bed with her and hold her - they could discuss everything when they woke up.  
  
He pulled away slowly and started to stand, intending to strip and join her in bed, when her eyes fluttered open. "Hey," she said softly, her voice tinged with confusion.  
  
"Hi, honey," he said, his voice equally soft. He crawled closer again, hesitating for just a second before pressing his lips to her. "I love you."  
  
"I know," she said softly, her lips curving up into a little smile. "I love you, too."  
  
"We don't have to talk now," he said, stroking her hair again. "Sleep. We'll talk later. But everything's going to be okay, I promise. We're going to be just fine."  
  
Her eyes met his for a moment, and he could feel her searching him to see if he honestly believed that. She must have been pleased with what she saw because she graced him with her first real smile of the day. He kissed her again, then pulled away and stood.  
  
"Can I stay?" he asked quietly, afraid to assume.  
  
"Of course." She yawned as she watched him unbutton his shirt. He stripped down to his boxers and was about to crawl in bed when she spoke again. "What's that?"  
  
He followed her gaze to the shopping bags near the bedroom door and blushed. "It's nothing really. I just got you a little something."  
  
She looked surprised, but her eyes sparkled. "You got me a present?"  
  
"Well, sort of." He fumbled with the explanation, then gave up, deciding to show her instead. He retrieved the bags and brought them with him to the bed. He scooted in beside her and waited for her to sit up next to him before handing her the larger bag.  
  
She reached in and pulled out a thick paperback. "What to Expect When You're Expecting." She shook her head in amused disbelief.   
  
"Well, I certainly have no idea what to expect," he said, shrugging in an attempt to mask his embarrassment. "I thought it might give us a little clue."  
  
"Thank you," she said softly, guiding him to her for a sweet kiss. She pulled back and eyed the other bag with a grin. "What's in that bag? Is that for me too?"  
  
"No…" he said. "But you can open it."  
  
She looked at him suspiciously, but reached for the bag. He started to hand it to her, then paused, feeling embarrassed by his own sentimentality. After a second he thrust it into her hands, hoping his face wasn't as red as he imagined it to be.   
  
She gave him a final strange look, then pulled the object from the bag. The small child's board book had been an impulse purchase. He'd gone to the bookstore intending to find a book about pregnancy. As a scientist, it was only natural that his first reaction would be to research. But after locating that book, he found himself strangely drawn to the children's section. The bright colors and happy characters made him smile, and for a moment he pictured himself bringing their child here. Then he had cringed as he watched rambunctious children snatch book after book from the shelves as their harried mothers tried to keep up. He turned to leave, but stopped short when he saw a particular board book. Covered in brightly colored insects, the bold red letters across the cover read, "My First Book of Bugs".  
  
Sara held the book in her hand now, a finger tracing the words almost reverently. She was silent still and had yet to make eye contact with him. For a moment he worried he done something wrong. Then she turned to look at him. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry," she said, doing a little of both.  
  
Unable to find any words to convey what he was feeling, he simply reached for her, drawing her into his arms and holding her tightly.   
  
"Thank you," she whispered.  
  
He held her for another minute, then pulled back, taking the books from her hands and placing them on the nightstand. He held the covers for her as she scooted back into a lying position, then he settled himself behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her to him. His hand sneaked it's way under her T-shirt, resting on her flat stomach. It was almost impossible to believe that before long it would be swollen with his growing child. The thought created a lump in his throat, and his voice was rough as he whispered, "It really is going to be all right. I can't promise you that I'll always know what to do or what to say, but I promise I'll always be here and I'll always love you."  
  
He heard her sniffle and felt her tears on his arm as she snuggled closer and covered his hand with her own, holding it in place against her stomach.   
  
"That's all I need," she said finally. She was quiet for a long time, and just when he thought she'd fallen asleep, she spoke up again, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I'll always be here, too, and I'll always love you."  
  
He hugged her tightly one last time and listened as her breathing grew steady and shallow again. He nuzzled her, inhaling deeply and allowing her to envelope his senses as she drifted back to sleep.  
  
His body was still, but his mind raced with the plethora of problems they had yet to deal with. They'd have to talk about living arrangements and child care. They'd have to face the gossip at the lab. There could be professional consequences - there was the possibility they'd be forced to work different shifts. And that was nothing compared to the uncertainty of what was going to happen in their personal lives. This baby would change everything.  
  
Sara stretched in her sleep, pressing her body against his, and a sense of calm contentedness spread over him. He wasn't alone anymore. They would deal with all of these things together, he reminded himself.   
  
It was true that things were not perfect; that there were still much to be worked out. But the most important facts - their love for each other and for their child - were true and steady. With time and work, the rest of the details would fall into place. Perhaps, he thought, that was as perfect as things got in real life.  
  
The End


End file.
